


on the wings of love

by winterbitch (WinterLadyy)



Series: revelations [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (its ciri), Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Jaskier, Established Relationship, Fae Jaskier, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Winged Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22437961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterLadyy/pseuds/winterbitch
Summary: After spending the winter in Kaer Morhen, Geralt and Jaskier get on with their travels again, and Geralt gets to see Jaskier in all of his Fae glory - the good, the bad and the weird. Somewhere along the way they get married, acquire a child and meet a djin. Somehow, they're all good things.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: revelations [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613374
Comments: 87
Kudos: 2515
Collections: Flap Flap Bitches, GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY, Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	on the wings of love

**Author's Note:**

> its longer than anticipated because wonderful people on tumblr gave me wonderful ideas. i love all of you and i love this au so much. its just a word vomit tho, i don't remember writing it mostly. my exams start in 2 days and this is what i spend my time on

Travelling with Jaskier after Kaer Morhen is just better than before it, but not that different. The bard still whines and complains but Geralt can see how much more comfortable he is, how much stronger. It warms his heart, as he never wants to see Jaskier suffer. The moment of putting the glamour on was sad. Seeing the wings vanish and the weight settle on Jaskier’s shoulders… It was a lot. **  
**

Yet, Jaskier’s smile remained bright and the Fae hugged him when he saw how angry Geralt was, saying, “I feel amazing, Witcher, don’t worry.” Geralt just returned the hug and worried anyway.

Their travels remain mostly the same, aside from a few things. They sleep cuddled together, Jaskier’s wings either wrapped around or draped over them. They kiss often, make love under the stars. It seems like they’re both touch-starved and Geralt stops flinching from Jaskier whenever the bard comes closer. He starts leaning into the touch instead, nuzzling into his neck, petting his wings. Things are better.

From time to time, Jaskier will do something fucking weird and Geralt will just sigh and accept it.

The frog-eating becomes a thing. As it turns out, Jaskier just enjoys frogs as a snack, they apparently ‘make him feel better’, and Geralt stops being weirded out by it after maybe 5 times. The crunch still gets to him, but Jaskier sends him a cheeky smile every time and Geralt shoves at his shoulder and it’s good.

He makes the bard drop the glamour as often as he can. He chooses isolated places for camps, closes the windows in inns, makes sure that Jaskier is as safe as he can before doing it.

“They almost got me,” Jaskier explains one day, showing Geralt a huge scar running down his back, wrapping around his ribs. “They wanted my wings, stupid thugs, and they attacked me. 7 people. One caught me by surprise and now I have a scar.”

Geralt touches said scar reverently and looks up at his Fae. “What did you do?”

“I killed them all,” Jaskier replies, voice hard as steel. 

“Good.”

That’s all that’s said in that subject but Geralt understands better why his bard is so cautious. A scar like that isn’t something to scoff at and it comes dangerously close to Jaskier’s left wing. Humans can be cruel.

Geralt just makes sure that they’re safe and secure and gives his lover as many opportunities to drop the glamour as he can. It’s working, Jaskier is much less exhausted, much more nimble, more capable. It’s a relief. Now he doesn’t have to worry all the time because he knows that Jaskier can protect himself.

Another thing that’s different are the flowers. Jaskier always had a thing for them, but now Geralt can watch as he makes them grow more beautiful, brighter and bigger. It requires little power so Jaskier does it often, tucking it into Geralt’s hair, making the stems tangle it in.

It’s rare nowadays, for Geralt not to have a flower somewhere in his hair and he carries it with pride. So what if some people scoff? They already did that and now at least the kids come up to him, curious and wide-eyed to compliment his flowers.

It’s strange and Geralt feels very out of place, but making a child smile feels good always.

They hit a few stumbles, especially once Geralt finds out that Jaskier is quite allergic to iron. It’s an unfortunate discovery and he tends to the bard’s red burn in angry silence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Jaskier whines, hissing when Geralt puts a healing salve on it. “Yes, I don’t react well to iron but it has to be pure iron to really hurt me. There’s not a lot of it.”

“Hmm,” is all he can manage. He’s already making a list of all the iron things he owns and planning on replacing them with something else. Yes, none are pure iron but Geralt is not risking it.

Suddenly, Jaskier’s hand is grabbing the side of his face and Geralt’s eyes are meeting the blue of his bard’s. 

“I can hear you worrying,” Jaskier says with a chuckle, rubbing their noses together. “I’ll be fine, Geralt, it’s not a big deal.”

“You’re hurt,” he says curtly, glaring at the burn.

Jaskier’s chuckle is melodic. “I’m often hurt, you know that. I’m accident-prone but I’ll be fine soon. I heal quickly.”

Geralt sighs and kisses the back of his bard’s hand. There’s nothing to be done here but he will keep an eye out in the future. 

He cradles Jaskier in his arms that night and kisses his neck and shoulders, hands brushing down his feathers until his bard is almost purring in pleasure, body relaxed and soft. Geralt stays awake listening to him breathe and only falls asleep once the moon is high on the sky, comfortable in their spot.

Their spot is almost a nest, actually, and Geralt quite enjoys it. Jaskier takes some time to make one at every camp. He gathers some of the soft fir branches and makes them into a pile that he covers with their bedrolls and some blankets. It’s unbelievably comfortable and sure beats laying on the ground.

“It’s a waste of time,” Geralt says the first time Jaskier masks his nest and gets a deeply offended, almost hurt look in return. He winces.

“It’s a nest, Geralt,” his Fae says softly, wings dropping a bit. “I-We make nests for our mates. Once we choose them, that is.”

“Oh.”

That explains a few things. Jaskier is blushing now, shy and a bit afraid and Geralt rushes to his side to cup his face and kiss him deeply. He still doesn’t know a lot about Fae habits and traditions but he vows to be more intuitive the next time.

Jaskier melts into him beautifully, before pushing Geralt down into the nest. It’s soft and comfortable and feels much better than the hard ground, especially once the bard slips between his legs and bites his neck.

Geralt gasps, grabbing Jaskier’s shoulders and lets his bard undress them both, his own hands busy petting Jaskier’s wings and ears, grinning whenever the Fae shivers. Geralt found out that the tips of his pointed ears are sensitive a while ago.

He lets Jaskier prepare him slowly, sighing and moaning into the night and then is treated to the glorious sight of Jaskier above him, wings spread wide, eyes shining with magic as he slowly fucks him, gentle and soft.

The Witcher never trusted anyone to do this to him before, but Jaskier has his whole heart and soul and it’s amazing to be this close, the bard solid and hot inside of him. Their lovemaking is always passionate, be it slow and sweet or rough and full of fire.

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs, gently caressing when the wings meet Jaskier’s back and enjoying how it makes the Fae cry out, thrusts turning a bit rougher. “Jaskier!”

He tries to keep his eyes open because there’s nothing that beats the image his bard makes right now - flushed and aroused, fangs bared, wings spread high. The only thing that comes close is Geralt taking Jaskier from behind and seeing those wings arch and flatten in pleasure.

It soon proves to be impossible because Jaskier gives him a feral grin, grabs his hips and starts fucking Geralt in earnest, causing him to grab the blankets desperately and throw his head back with a howl.

“Love, fuck, love making my wolf howl like that,” Jaskier groans, bowed over him, almost wild in his pleasure. 

Geralt can just moan and arch into his touch, into the bites and the prickle of claws on his hips, the roughness covered by the love he can smell pouring from his bard.

Jaskier makes him come first, caught between a scream and a growl, spilling all over his stomach and Jaskier’s hand wrapped around his cock. It takes only a few more thrusts before his Fae is following, magic exploding around them and then disappearing as soon as the bard drops down on Geralt’s chest.

“I may like the nest now,” Geralt informs him once he gets his speech back and Jaskier just hums, pleasantly exhausted.

After that night, each time he looks at a nest, Geralt allows himself a small twitch of the lips, remembering how much it means to Jaskier to build one for them. Even when they sleep in a room Jaskier gathers the sheets and blankets to make a rough nest and Geralt just sighs softly and allows him.

Each winter, they come back to Kaer Morhen and each winter Geralt delights in seeing Jaskier free and himself. It’s even easier to read him with his wings that can never truly hide his mood, and it’s easier to smile when there’s no tension in Jaskier’s shoulders.

It’s in Kaer Morhen that Geralt gets to witness how powerful Jaskier is, while not holding a glamour and they’re all left speechless when the bard stares a huge wyvern down and kills it in less than a second, with a surge of red magic.

“That’s useful,” Lambert quips, coming closer to the carcass. No one says anything else.

During their travels, Jaskier can’t use magic like that, not while also maintaining the glamour but Geralt never forgets how deadly his cheery bard can be. It’s a direct contrast to his usual demeanour, but there.

Jaskier is loose and well-fucked under him, wings limp and legs still wrapped around Geralt's hips when the bard asks a question. 

“Why did you kiss me back then? With all the talk about how the Witchers aren’t supposed to have feelings, how you must walk the Path alone… What changed?”

There's no malice in his words and suddenly, Geralt feels very exposed but there's nowhere to hide, not with Jaskier wrapped around him, soft and curious. His eyes are very blue, gold flickering near the pupils and Geralt actually...likes him very much. More than anyone.

“You-I-You were. Quite irresistible,” Geralt finally says, avoiding Jaskier’s eyes.

He doesn’t get to do it for long, as the bard catches his face and forces them to look at each other. There’s no place to hide.

“But it’s not just a tumble in bed, well a nest I suppose. It’s more than that, I can smell it,” Jaskier insists. Geralt is just helpless.

“It is more,” he agrees. “I’m not, um, I don’t usually- well, ever, feel like this. It’s new.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yes,” Geralt admits in a heartbeat. It’s just Jaskier.

“Me too,” the bard says surprising him. “I never felt like this about anyone. Not this intense, anyway, and I’m… You’re a Witcher and you may die every day, every time you go to slay the beast of the day. It’s not wise of me.”

“No one said you were wise,” Geralt points out with a small smirk and gets a wing to the head for his trouble.

“Then we’re just a pair of idiots then, Witcher,” Jaskier snickers, looking up at him warmly. There’s something in his eyes that Geralt never saw directed at himself and maybe he doesn’t understand now, but he will someday.

They part the next morning, with a cheeky smile and a wave and then Geralt is alone. He doesn’t hate it, he’s been travelling alone for a long time, but from time to time he catches himself missing Jaskier’s singing, his warmth by his side.

Sometimes, he wakes up covered in flowers and smiles through his worry. Jaskier shouldn’t be using his power to do something like this, but it fills him with warmth, knowing that his bard also misses him.

When they’re apart, Jaskier can’t really drop the glamour unless in a room, so he comes back a bit exhausted, a bit worse for wear. Geralt makes sure to keep him on Roach then and set a camp a bit earlier, wake up a bit later to let him rest.

For 6 years everything is great. They kill monsters, Jaskier makes more songs, gets recognized anywhere they go. They make love under the stars and wash in cold streams and Jaskier annoys him all the time. It’s great.

They get a bit lazy and it comes to bite them in the ass.

It starts as nothing and even Geralt can’t notice that they’re being hunted for the first week and a half. No scent, no sound, no nothing. He starts feeling something amiss when the hunter grows closer. Even Jaskier gets uneasy, shifting on his horse and riding a bit closer to Geralt.

“You feel it too, right?” he asks quietly, glancing behind him. “I’m not just paranoid.”

“No. Something’s wrong,” Geralt growls, hand on the hilt of his sword. Jaskier straightens on his horse, fingers twisting like they do when the bard wants to use magic but can’t and they don’t get a warning before a bolt flies through the air and hits Jaskier.

Geralt shouts and turns around, throwing a dagger in the direction the shot came from. Adrenaline surges up as Jaskier falls from his horse, moaning weakly and Geralt glances at him before jumping from Roach and following after the attacker. It takes him only a few seconds to grab the man and cut his head clean off, fury coursing through his body.

Then, everything is silent as he leaves the body and runs back to Jaskier. He looks bad, blood already flowing from the wound and Geralt curse when he realizes that it’s his wing that was caught somehow.

“Jaskier!”

“G’rlt?” Jaskier asks sluggishly, trying to get up but falling with a groan.

Geralt’s heart is racing and he can’t remember being so scared ever in his life. Carefully, he lifts his bard and winces when the bolt in his wing moves. Jaskier is pale, losing blood quite quickly but not delirious yet.

“Can’t, ah, fever,” he manages to say while Geralt carries him quickly but gently into the forest where they won’t be seen. His hands are trembling and he’s terrified of losing his bard, his lover. He has to focus.

“It’s okay, no fever, I promise,” the Witcher promises hotly, laying him down carefully. The bold still moves and Jaskier shouts, the good wing snapping open.

Thankfully, Roach and Phoenix came after him so Geralt grabs his potions, linens and some water, before sitting down next to the bard. Jaskier’s eyes are wide and open, but trusting and not scared.

“The wing, Geralt, please,” he says weakly, hand grabbing Geralt’s arm.

He swallows, terrified and unsure of what to do. “How?” he asks roughly. “How do I remove it?”

Jaskier’s breathing is fast and Geralt can see that he’s losing consciousness quickly, but the bard focuses. “Just-just break it,” he mumbles. “Take it out. Please. ‘t’s poisoned.”

“Fuck.”

His hands are shaking as he gently grabs the bolt and takes it out with a wet squelch. Jaskier shouts again, nearly passing out, starts trembling. Geralt grinds his teeth and presses on the wound. The blood there is black and thick, sticky. Not normal, the poison is already working.

It must hurt too, as Jaskier starts shaking, his blue eyes turning completely black as a Witcher’s. Magic is swirling around them but his bard is weak and can’t do anything and Geralt is clueless, he just knows he can’t lose his Fae.

“What potion? Jaskier!” he shouts but it’s too late already. The bard is out cold, still trembling, his injured wing twitching. “Fuck!”

They don’t have any potions for humans because they don’t work on Jaskier, but for some stupid fucking reason, they don’t fave anything for a Fae either. “Fuck,” he says again, taking in a shuddering breath.

All he can use are Witcher’s potions and they’re lethal to people. He has no idea if they’ll be good for Jaskier but he has no other option. Either he dies from the poison or Geralt does something.

With shaking hands he grabs the purple one, swirling with magic, and pours it over the wound.

The scream that leaves his lover will haunt him forever, Geralt knows it. He just holds him down and prays to any gods that Jaskier won’t die now, by Geralt’s own hand.

“Please,” he whispers, watching the bard shake and tremble. He’s cool to the touch, no fever or infection but that can also be deadly.

There’s nothing for him to do but clean the wound with water and then wrap it in linens, tightly enough so that the wing won’t get more injured. Then, Geralt builds a fire and makes a crude nest, heart hammering when he remembers Jaskier doing the same.

Jaskier who is laying down on the cold ground now, possibly dying from Geralt’s potion, feathers covered in blood and face pale. With aching gentleness, Geralt lays him down in the nest and settles next to him, one big hand covering his heart.

It’s beating, erratic and fast, but beating. 

He can’t take Jaskier to a healer, that’s the worst thing. Geralt doesn’t have anyone owing him a favour here, and heals are often the most vicious when they come across a valuable magical creature in need of help. The healer may as well kill Jaskier for his wings or blood or whatever the fuck it is that they need.

Geralt can just wait and worry, cleaning the wound over the next 3 days and nights, watching over Jaskier as he trembles and whines, wrapping him in his arms to warm his cool body.

It’s agony. It’s torture worse than what he went through during his training, during the worst of sessions while captured. He’s absolutely helpless and useless, watching as Jaskier possibly dies in his arms, shaking and weak. 

So, Geralt prays. He prays to all the gods he knows, gods he hates and despises; doesn’t believe in. He bargains his own life for Jaskier's, promises them the world if only they make him live. He’s terrified.

On the morning of the 4th day, Jaskier’s trembling eases and Geralt cleans the wound again, listening to his heart. It’s settled down as well, beating slow and steady, no sign of stopping. He doesn’t dare to hope, too scared of what may follow, but a few hours later, Jaskier wakes.

“Geralt?” he mumbles, still weak, voice rough.

“I’m here,” Geralt chokes out, relief making him light-headed. He stumbles to the nest and falls to his knees next to the bard, cupping his face in his shaking hands.

“Geralt.” This time, Jaskier’s voice is soft and full of relief. “You’re okay.”

There are so many things he could say now, angry and scared and furious and everything in between but,

“I love you,” Geralt whispers, staring into Jaskier’s gorgeous blue eyes. “Don’t leave me.”

Jaskier smiles softly and brings one hand to cover Geralt’s. “Never,” he swears. “I love you too. Forever and ever.”

Geralt smiles and closes his eyes, relief washing over him. He doesn’t cry but his soul is hurting and Jaskier carefully pulls him down until they’re laying down, pressed together in the nest, breathing in. Jaskier still smells like blood but it’s clean, no poison or infection.

“I thought I killed you,” Geralt admits suddenly, too overwhelmed to keep it in. “With the potion.”

“You saved me, Geralt. You always do,” Jaskier says softly, his good wing wrapping around Geralt. The Witcher closes his eyes and only opens them when he feels the bard looking at them.

There’s something in his eyes, a bit scared but passionate, and he smells like love and determination. The air feels charged with something when Jaskier starts speaking.

“You are more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same…my great thought in living is you. If all else perished, and you remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and you were gone, the universe would turn to dust. On my life, on the sky and the fire, I swear to be as the wind under your wings and as the blaze of your soul, and once our time comes, our universe shall become one, as we always were.” 

Geralt never heard those words, he doesn’t know them but he knows the tone. He knows the look in Jaskier’s eyes and he knows what they mean.

“Thus do I take you,” he starts to say, voice quiet but sure. Geralt has never been more sure about anything in his life. “To have and to hold, for the most wondrous and terrible of times, for the best and the worst of times, by day and by night, in sickness and in health. For I love you with all my heart and swear to love you eternally, until death do us part.”

For a second, everything is quiet. There’s only them and the forest and the marriage vows between them, before Jaskier’s magic, blue as his eyes, surges up and wraps around them. They gasp and they kiss and they’re lost in each other. It’s perfect, with the blood and the dirt and the smell of the road. 

Then, Jaskier starts crying so Geralt pulls him closer and they stay like this.

“I can’t believe we got married after not showering for a week,” Jaskier sobs into his shoulder, smiling a bit.

Geralt huffs and smiles as well. “Fitting, really.”

Jaskier nods and curls even closer to him. “Husband.”

A thrill goes down Geralt’s spine and he holds Jaskier even tighter. Of all the things he never thought he’d be called, ‘husband’ was probably the least anticipated one. And to have a Fae in his arms calling him that, smiling and smelling of love and blood? Well, maybe Destiny does know what it’s doing.

They’re not married in front of the law or even the faith, but they’re married in front of each other, and that’s all that matters. All they have to do is deal with the attack now.

“He’s a hunter,” Jaskier says the next day, standing over the fallen body of the man that shot him. “He knew I was a Fae, he was aiming at my wing and the bolt was poisoned. The nerve of that man, Geralt, I cannot believe! All that work not to be discovered, that damned glamour, and then this happens.”

Jaskier is more exasperated than worried, but Geralt recognizes the danger. If someone knows that his bard isn’t just a bard… It means trouble.

They leave that place after burning the body and the weapons. Geralt remains vigilant but nothing else happens.

Jaskier heals. It’s slow and painful and he has to drop the glamour very very often so it slows them down considerably, but he heals. Geralt is...concerned. He doesn’t mother-hen, no matter what Jaskier says, he’s just worried and Jaskier moves too much, that’s it.

That winter he treats Jaskier more gently, making sure his Fae is okay, that he’s resting and fine. They snap at each other a few times, making Vesemir almost throw them out, but it’s nothing a good tumble in the sheets can’t fix.

When Jaskier asks to accompany him to the royal ball in Cintra, Geralt can’t say no. He never learned how to deny his bard anything and it’s not the time to do so. He lets Jaskier bathe him, clothe him in truly atrocious clothes and off they go.

Geralt really doesn’t expect to get a whole child out of the debacle, but his life can be just that shit. He can see Jaskier raising an eyebrow at him as he leaves but the bard stays quiet until they’re alone.

“That’s why you shouldn’t try to joke,” his bard says pointedly. “You’re shit at it.”

“Yes, Jaskier, please tell me how you feel,” Geralt snaps.

The Fae huffs. “You don’t want that,” he mumbles. “Well, now we have a child in Cintra, a royal child no less. Things are about to get quite interesting, I haven’t held a child in years! Granted, humans are different than Fae, fledgelings are much more resistant than all those squishy newborns, but I still remember a few things, I think…”

“We?” Geralt interrupts, raising an eyebrow.

Jaskier steps closer to him, smirking and glaring at the same time. He knocks his knuckles against Geralt’s forehead. “Yes, that’s what happens when you’re married, Geralt. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine. I can also feel the pull of Destiny.”

“Fuck.”

He should be angry, enraged actually, but it’s...calming, that Jaskier is here in this shit with him. The bard is much more suited for children and at least Geralt isn’t alone.

They both can feel it when the child is born and Jaskier can’t stop smiling. Geralt can see the change in him, subtle as it is. He starts buying softer fabrics, little trinkets, things with feathers. As they ride back to Cintra, to meet their Child Surprise, Jaskier is making something.

It seems to be a weird amulet or a charm. He’s using his own down feathers, fluffy and almost gold in colour, and some flowers enchanted to last. There are twigs and various stones that Jaskier collects, leather strips from Geralt, leaves from Kaer Morhen. It’s beautiful and full of magic and Geralt can’t even chide the Fae for using it when he seems so happy and proud.

“It’s a nightchaser,” Jaskier explains after seeing Geralt stare at the thing. “We make them for fledgelings with the feathers of the parents, flowers and anything that catches our eye really and hang it over where the fledgeling sleeps. It, as the name suggests, chases off the nightmares and assures that the fledgeling will grow strong and sure, unburdened by bad dreams.”

Geralt nods and lets the bard work.

The closer they are to Cintra, the surer Geralt becomes that this is all because of Jaskier. Not the Child Surprise, that was all Geralt, but the fact that they are, in fact, heading to meet said child. If not for the Fae, he would have told Destiny to fuck off and avoided the child for as long as he could. Jaskier proved to him that maybe, sometimes, Destiny knows what it’s doing.

Geralt isn’t as naive as to think that their meetings are coincidental. Neither is looking for the other, they don’t have to when they keep meeting all the time. He knows what Destiny is, and he knows that meeting Jaskier is what was supposed to happen. He’s not sure if the relationship that followed was also written in the stars, but here they are.

The Queen wouldn’t allow them to see the child with the rest of the nobility, so they arrive late when everything is already over. The guards let them in easily and Jaskier is almost vibrating in place, eyes bright and excited. Geralt is more nervous than anything else, but he also can feel the tug that directs them to the room where the child is.

The moment Geralt sees the princess, everything stops. He can hear Jaskier’s breathing pick up and for a long while, they just stare at the child who stares right back.

“I didn’t think you’d be here, Witcher,” Quee Calanthe says coldly, hand on a dagger.

“We couldn’t miss it, Your Majesty,” Jaskier says with a bow, eyes not leaving the child.

“Her name is Cirilla,” Pavetta says softly, eyes full of love and sorrow. She knows that the girl will never be truly, fully hers. She has to share Cirilla with two strangers, one of which is a Witcher. “Would you like to hold her?”

Geralt freezes but Jaskier chuckles breathlessly and they all watch as he gathers the child in his arms. His hold is a bit awkward, Geralt can see where he’s used to adjusting to small wings, but he recovers quickly. The sight of his bard with a child in his arms almost makes Geralt’s heart stop. He already loves the princess.

“Hello, Ciri,” Jaskier coos at the child, getting a delighted giggle in return. “I’m Jaskier and this is Geralt. We’ll take good care of you, along with your family.”

The Witcher doesn’t try to hold the child, but he gives her a finger to hold and when it’s time to leave, they’re both reluctant. They have to, as the Queen doesn’t seem to be very friendly towards them, and Jaskier leaves his nightchaser with the princess.

“I was invited to give lectures at the university,” Jaskier says suddenly once they’re leaving the castle. “Are you going with me?”

“Can’t,” Geralt replies with a wince. “A contract for a nest of vampires. I have to take it.”

Jaskier sighs but just leans from his horse and kisses Geralt’s jaw. “Do be careful,” he instructs. “I hate seeing you again with 20 new scars because you don’t take care of yourself.”

“I’ll try.”

His bard laughs and gives him a feather. It’s not overly long, he can hide it easily but it has traces of Jaskier’s scent and magic so Geralt will treasure it.

“Until we meet again, my love,” Jaskier says and goes right on the crossroad. Geralt rides left and lets the work take him.

Almost a year later, he’s not sure what made him think that djin is the answer to his problems, but for some reason, it happens. It was a strange year without Jaskier, as they haven’t seen each other even once, but once they do, Geralt goes and fucks it up.

He doesn’t care for the beautiful sorceress smelling of lust and arousal when she sees her, all he cares about is making sure Jaskier’s safe. It’s almost worse than the accident with the hunter, as now it’s entirely Geralt’s fault and he can’t fix it.

It does, however, give him a chance to help Jaskier in another way. A djin is powerful and his last wish comes easy. He never wants to see Jaskier exhausted by hiding himself again, so he wishes for the Fae to have more than enough power to keep the glamour and still function properly.

When he tells Jaskier that, his husband throws himself into his arms and cries, thanking him again and again and again.

“I almost killed you again,” Geralt growls into Jaskier’s hair. “By a stupid wish.”

“You had no way of knowing, Geralt,” Jaskier whispers. “Djins are...difficult, from what I gathered, and it interpreted your wish in the worst way possible. You’re not to blame for something that a magical creature did.”

Geralt still feels guilty and he knows that Jaskier’s aware of that fact, but the guilt lessens when he sees Jaskier spin his magic.

It’s different now, more free, no tension in his shoulders. Jaskier’s wings are safely hidden away and here he is, making a whole forest bloom with wisps of blue magic, laughing out loud. Geralt just leans against a tree and watches, entranced and ridiculously in love.

There’s still the case of Ciri that they’re not allowed to see anymore. Geralt knew that Queen Calanthe wouldn’t agree with Destiny, that she was bitter and angry and wanted to play games, but it still hurts. It hurts Jaskier too, the Witcher knows, he can see the sadness in his eyes.

They can’t go against a whole kingdom, however. Ciri isn’t theirs to see now, to help to raise and cherish and Geralt’s surprised to notice that it bothers him. Seeing the princess in Jaskier’s arm made everything too real and he was ready to take on the responsibility. He can’t. They can’t.

However, he knows that Destiny has a funny way of making things work. Usually, that would make him angry, but now Geralt revels in it a bit. Queen Calanthe can scheme all she wants, but Destiny will do what it wants. That’s how it works.

“She has the nightchaser, Geralt,” Jaskier says one night, drawing circles on the Witcher’s bare chest. “And with a grandmother as strong as the Queen, she will grow up wonderful, with us or without. I hate the Queen for her decision, I really really do, it’s cruel to let me hold the fledgeling and then tear it away from me, but we can’t do anything here. Just wait.”

Geralt just hums and kisses the arch of Jaskier’s wing. They will get Ciri eventually, but he sometimes wonders if the cost will be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if you enjoyed, please 💖 there will be more in this verse, at least one more from ciri's pov and maybe some snippets. unless you have ideas?


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